


Hurricane

by unusuallyabigail



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Lams - Freeform, M/M, everything i write is gay, first hamfam fic, its gay, trying a new writing style ay, why am i like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusuallyabigail/pseuds/unusuallyabigail
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was the hurricane that made him lose it all





	

He was the hurricane that made him lose it all.

Now, before you say anything, this wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t a compliment either, come to think of it. It simply was.

Alexander Hamilton was a force of nature, a destructive whirl that demolished everything in his path, the path to his legacy. He was a whirl of long hair and short limbs, a constant energy that demanded to be used up, used before it could burn.

The man who wrote symphonies, made towers out of words and dynasties out of paragraphs, the man who could make you soar or bring you crashing with a simple phrase. The man who could create music by purely speaking, who painted with his words until all who were near him drowned in the seas of his mind, of his language he had to have created himself, one that no one else could have mastered so effortlessly.

The man who threw himself into life without apology, who created and extorted, who was fearless and unafraid of challenges and heartbreak. The man who rose to get what he wanted, the man who never backed down from a fight, the man who challenged his oppressors until he won, or was forced into submission.

He was wild and fearless; leaving the tears and pain of a hurricane in his wake.

Yet there were nights when the storm froze, when the man who never stopped would break and sob, crying out for the family he would never recover. Nights when the boy from Nevis emerged, the boy who died when the first raindrop hit his town, the boy who crumpled when a fever worsened, the boy who had beaten down and torn apart.

There were nights when all he could do was scream, scream and desperately attempt to piece together what he had left, the miniscule life he had salvaged in New York. Nights when it wasn’t worth it, when he wished the hurricane and fever had drowned him out, when he wished he could have been one of the many nameless victims.

Hurricanes are never truly beaten down, and neither was the hurricane named Alexander Hamilton. He would get back up, write his way from Hell and back, without hesitation or apology. He would be fueled by spite, or malice; fueled by love, or desperation; fueled by a carnal need to prove himself.

There is a reason hurricanes are named after people.

~

What ends in a hurricane can begin in a mist, something light and near pleasant, something unsuspecting and kind. John Laurens had always loved the rain, reveled in it; he never had thought he’d be sucked into his own personal storm.

He was swept away in intelligent eyes and beautiful words, reigning in the hurricane with a star-strewn smile and unkept promises.

Hamilton loved like he lived, reckless and without abandon; the fights were brutal and the feelings were fierce, whether it was expressed through sex or through punches, Laurens giving in and returning with equal fervor. There were nights when they screamed until their throats bled, caught in destruction; there were nights where they held each other and sobbed, caught in the eye of an eternal hurricane.

They were doomed from the start; young, scrappy, and hungry, two desperate forces clinging to each other in anger and passion, fueling each other's flames and only making the fires grow. Desperate to live and to love, desperate for someone who could possibly understand. Hamilton was alive, the storm spreading, clouds hanging in a constant threat, Laurens was caught in the eye, unable and unwilling to escape the inevitable.

Until the hurricane had gone, moving on to the next opportunity, the next legacy to build. His Alexander was swept away in his own storm, fueled by malice towards the world and an inability to trust his own heart, leaving only a letter behind.

_Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you..._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I tried a more abstract style, and wrote this at 3AM. Not too sure if I like it or not, but ah well. As always, comments and kudos are love, and I hope to see y'all at my next work.


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